Because the Context Demanded It
by TeenWriterKimba
Summary: When Abed failed to provide new context, Annie brought the context to him.


So I actually wrote this last winter (I think), but never got around to posting it. I'm still working to update Next to Normal (I promise!) but since I just dug this up, I figured I'd put it out there. I really liked Abed/Annie when I first watched Community, and I still think they would be cute together. This is set after A Few Paintballs More, but was written before the third season existed, so AU in that respect.

Because The Context Demanded It

Han Solo was dead and gone, as he should be. Once I'm gone, I'm gone. Just like the rebel himself. "Cool."

But she isn't cool. She's making an Annieface that looks almost familiar. I've memorized and categorized several types of emotionfaces for each of my friends just for this sort of quick referencing. She looks almost…sad, but with hints of frustration? What could this mean? Unbidden, the image of my mother, _I'm disappointed in you, _flashes through my thoughts. Disappointment. This is an Annieface I have yet to categorize.

And it seems very out of place in this moment. What is there to be disappointed about? The war is over, Han Solo is gone, he served his purpose, sacrificed himself nobly, but is no longer needed. At least…he's no longer needed for the war effort. A quick review of the relationship dynamics chart that I also have memorized points to the fact that Annie is single at the moment. Perhaps she is disappointed that Han Solo is no longer flirting with and kissing her, and in fact, no longer exists to serve that purpose.

But she's looking at me, not Han Solo, with this sad, startling face. She certainly can't be disappointed over _me_. I wasn't the one kissing her, and she must know that. My thorough analysis of her past choices and opinions has led me to conclude that she is generally rational, if given to fits of emotional weakness. And I am certainly unlikely to trigger such emotional weakness. I'm not 'hot' like Troy or 'cool' like Jeff. I'm something in between, or likely, something other entirely. Annie and I are just friends. No more, no less.

But perhaps I have underestimated the strength of her emotional tendencies.

After all, scanning through my memories again, I recall a similar reaction, although to a lesser extent, after the Mad Men incident. At the time I simply brushed it off, not yet having memorized Anniefaces (and really—who could resist Don Draper?) but this second incidence points to something more than just chance. It points to the newly forming hypothesis that Annie might enjoy flirting with and kissing _me_ and not just the characters I'm portraying. Silly, really.

Even if she is focused on me, and not on Han Solo, there's really nothing to be disappointed about. It's not that I didn't like kissing her, or that I wasn't aware that I was kissing her. I'm not that out of touch with reality. It's not that I wouldn't kiss her again…given the right context. It's just, in this simulation, Han Solo was doing the kissing, not me. If I were scripted to get a romantic arc with Annie, I certainly would have enjoyed kissing her, and I likely wouldn't have stopped at just one kiss. But it isn't in the script and it can't be in the script.

So, all we have is simulations. All _I _have is simulations—I'm sure Annie could, (and has!), kiss anyone she wanted. Strangely, I find myself running possible other scenarios where being Han Solo, or another romantic lead, might be called for. Because it was rather pleasing to kiss Annie, more pleasing than any other girl I've kissed. Even if it was Han Solo doing the kissing and not me. Perhaps, a shameful voice pokes, because it was Han Solo doing the kissing and not me. I wouldn't tell anyone, but I've never kissed a girl, not really, not as myself. I wouldn't know what to do. I don't understand girls, emotion, attraction, at least not on a personal level. But sometimes I think I wish I did. And what better teacher could I find than a girl who is rational but still capable of understanding and expressing emotions?

These are not thoughts I should be having. Not about Annie. Annie is a friend, no more, no less. That is what is in the script and that is what needs to stay in the script. Having worked through all of these thoughts in a matter of seconds, I make the decision not to react to Annie's disappointment, despite my surprising recognition of it.

"Cool, cool, cool." As I walk away, having left her with this sentiment, two thoughts I don't particularly want to explore with Friend-Annie poke at me. What would I do if the context led me to be Han Solo again?

…What would I do if I had another chance?

Weeks go by. Months. Summer comes and goes in the blink of a blockbuster. I try to stop thinking about Han Solo and Annie. I fail.

Fall comes again. Our family is back together, acting like nothing has happened, nothing has changed. The lack of continuity is stifling.

Although, surprisingly, the kiss comes back to haunt me soon enough. Annie and I are sitting in the study room. She's looking over her notes for the fifth time. I'm subtly observing her, noting a slightly odd new twitch she has developed, flicking her hand after each page turn. No one else has arrived yet. We are often the only two who appear early for study group. She comes to review notes and the chapter before we begin. I come because I have nothing better to do. Or so I tell myself. Sometimes I think I come to watch her. Not because of the kiss. Just because. She is….fascinating. Enthralling.

All of a sudden, she slams the book in front of her shut and glares at me, cheeks red. "Why are you watching me?" she says.

I try not to panic. No one is supposed to notice me noticing them. Of course, she is a little different from most people. But not usually in this manner. Something has made her aware…observant. Far more observant than I usually allow for.

Thinking of nothing else to say, I simply lay out the facts, as usual. "You've developed a new twitch in your right hand. I wanted to observe it playing out as you studied." _I like to watch you read. You make interesting faces._ There, I stated all the facts, even if they weren't all out loud.

Her face is nearly as blank as mine always is. This isn't an Annieface I'm used to. "How often do you watch me?" she asks, her voice nearly a whisper. I shiver, which is odd, because I'm not cold. She is using a tone, a tone that implies something. I wish I was capable of figuring out what that something was.

"Often," I respond, simply. This isn't exactly the whole truth, but I'm too thrown off by her tone to react fully. It seems like I'm always watching her, at least since we got back to school this fall. She is proving to be far more interesting than I would have thought at first assessment. But this is a new development, so I decide not to amend my slightly false statement.

She stares at me for a long moment, in a way that almost makes me feel uncomfortable. Then she goes back to her reading, as if nothing had happened, even though _something_ most certainly had. I'm just not entirely sure what it was. As the rest of the group files in, I tuck this memory away to process later. It certainly feels relevant.

That night, I have just shut off the TV to begin my usual processing and fact filing for the day (my nightly bedtime ritual), when there is a soft knock on my door. I move to open it, only to find Annie on the other side, dressed in a very peculiar way. Dark red collared shirt, baggy jeans, tousled hair pulled back to look shorter. Very decidedly unAnnie-like dress. Running through all the possible scenarios rapid-fire (a costume party I had forgotten…but I never forget…an elaborate hoax involving the rest of the study group…but Annie's a terrible liar…Annie having let her state of dress go…but that's too out of character), I simply ask, "Has Halloween come early this year?"

She blushes, but doesn't speak. Finally, after another long beat of silence, and uncertain as to how I am supposed to react, I gesture her into my room and she enters, coming to a stop leaning on my bedpost, observing me. She does not speak, even after I close my door and sit on my bed. We watch each other watching each other for a long moment.

Something clicks in my brain. "You're dressed like Patrick Swayze from Ghost," I say, finally breaking the strange silence. Her brilliant smile lets me know I've guessed right. "But why?" I add, not really expecting an answer by this point, and unsurprisingly, I don't get one.

I should have known she would find a loophole. Annie doesn't take disappointment lying down. That's why I love her so much. Her neuroticisms are so compatible with mine.

'Role-playing' she calls it, when she finally decides to explain.

…Bringing the context to me.

The first time, she showed up in my dorm dressed like Patrick Swayze. I told her the Ghost reference was a little weak, and a little gender-confused, but she never said a word. Just like Patrick Swayze. She's good.

For a while she just sat with me, easing in, making sure I was comfortable, waiting for my questions to stop. And then, once I had finally accepted the idea of her lingering in my dorm, she kissed me. I wondered if perhaps she was a ghost, just like the movie. I felt certainly felt as weak in the knees as Demi Moore.

And then she left. We didn't talk about it, just like with didn't talk about Han and Leia. Once I'm gone, I'm gone. I think maybe it's better that way.

The next time, we're in the middle of a meeting and she starts making subtle Breakfast Club references. We've been there, done that as a group, and no one pays her much mind, but I catch her channeling Claire like it's nobody's business. I throw in a Bender here or there and it almost feels like flirting. Pop culture flirting. I'm entirely out of my element here.

I don't know how we end up in the janitor's closet, but by day's end I no longer have to wonder what went on between Bender and Claire.

This has gone on so many times that I'm starting to memorize the way she tastes, sweet but also clean. I begin to fear I might…miss her, when all this is over. Not her kisses, not our game of pretend. Her.

And that worries me more than anything else.

The incidences begin to blend together. Kisses stolen under the guise of my idols, male and female. Sometimes in my dorm room, sometimes in the corridors and classrooms of the school, once even in the study lounge after hours. I feel as daring as Jeff and Britta.

But still, they are just kisses. Kisses I can handle, I think. I've seen so many on TV and in movies that I know just how to respond, just what is expected. Part of me is still involved (in an amazing, spine-tingling way that I'm slowly realizing simply observing cannot replicate), but there is always someone else doing all of the hard work. Acting smooth, delivering the lines, knowing when to stop and when to press further, all of that comes from someone else.

…But I'm so afraid that I want more.

And then, one night, she comes dressed as Sam from the Perks of Being a Wallflower. At first, I am pleased. I enjoyed the movie when we recently went to see it (or were dragged to see it, for some) as a study group, and I certainly relate to Charlie enough to understand what's expected of me. But then I notice her outfit and I nearly slam the door in her face, my panic level rising to places I didn't even know existed.

Her sweater is polka-dotted, not red. It isn't from the typewriter first kiss scene. It's from the end, and I've never done anything other than kiss a girl. I know what is expected, yes, but can I really handle it on my own? It isn't like Charlie will be much help. I wish she'd picked a different show to try this with.

She can sense my discomfort immediately, and her coy Sam smile slips from its place, only to be replaced with a look that is purely Annie. And that only serves to frighten me all the more.

"Charlie…" she begins. I flinch. She winces, pauses, and tries again, "Abed."

This time I actually do close the door in her face, but she's too quick for me catches it before it can close all the way.

"I'm sorry! Wait! Please don't shut me out like this," she cries through the door. I have heard the panicky but sympathetic Annie voice before, but this one is a little different. It's more…hurt? Dare I think…disappointed?

I slowly open the door just a crack.

"I didn't think anyone noticed me," I said, quietly. Her face, crestfallen just moments before, brightens once more. My heart is beating a mile a minute as she steps past me into the room. I feel her eyes boring into me as I shut the door behind me.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, and she begins. I feel like I'm vibrating, I'm so nervous.

"If somebody likes me," she begins again, pauses, looks at me, looks away, paces. "I want them to like the real me, not what they think I am." She stops for a moment and just looks at me, watching me take in her words. I know exactly how close to _the _part of the movie we are and the implications send frozen tendrils of fear shooting all over my body. I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't-_wait_.

Her words begin to sink in for the first time, and the significance hits me, hard. She picked this semi-sex scene for a reason. This was something she wanted to say, but couldn't bring herself to do it outside of our roles. She wants to know if I really like her. She's testing me. And I'm failing. The comprehension on by face must be enough to embolden her, however, and she comes to sit beside me. To my credit, I manage not to flinch.

"I don't want them to carry it around inside. I want them to show me, so I can feel it too. I want them to be able to do whatever they want around me…" she says, before pausing again. These words, too, are spoken with particular emphasis. She is done playing games. She wants reality. Am I capable of giving it?

Her next words are still Sam's, but the look is all Annie. "Right now, I'm here with you. And I want to know where you are, what you need, and what you want to do."

It's all in my hands then. Where this game will go, whether we will drop the charade or carry on, and what the consequences of those choices might be. And just what course this night will take.

Charlie's words ring through my head. _So, I kissed her. And it was beautiful. She was so beautiful._

And then I take her hand in mine, and gently press my lips to it. Not quite Charlie, not quite Abed. Something entirely different, but a step in the right direction. After a moment, I pull back, but keep her hand in mine. She looks at me, curiously, dropping all pretenses of Sam, but not quite falling all the way into Annie, either.

Neither of us, it seems, really knows how to proceed as ourselves. So I do something I have secretly, in my dizziest daydreams, wanted to do for quite sometime. I lay back on my bed and gently guide her down beside me, hand still grasped in mine, head pillowed on my chest, bodies curled together. I do not press for more, and neither does she. We whisper speak about deep things, inconsequential things, until we fall asleep this way and wake up just the same, still Abed and Annie and nothing more.

And it is enough, for us, for now.


End file.
